Decessus
by Charleigh96
Summary: "And to join us in our despair the heavens weep, as we wait on eternal sleep."


A sad silence had fallen over the barracks since Trost. Duties were completed quickly and carefully, any excuse not to talk to one another. The days were slow and painful, but nothing compared to the nights. Those unbearable hours of little sleep, meloncholy silence except for muffles sobs as the friends of the dead sobbed into their pillows and the rest of the living pretended not to hear.

For some, like Eren, Trost made everything slightly more clear, gave them a little reinforcement. 'We can do it, we really have a chance. For the rest the weights of the dead on their shoulders were too much. Armin was the worst.

Marco had setteled for a stunned silence. He lay above the covers most nights, listening to the heartbreaking sobs that others ignored. Most just brushed the sobs aside ~_ it's just Armin again~_ but Marco knew better. He waited until the last of the candles burned out, and when he couldn't bear it any more he stood and moved noiselessly across the barracks to the source of the noise.

He slid onto the bed and curled up next to Jean, ignoring the pain in his neck when he laid his head on the pillow. He reached out to stroke the familiar hair, but thought better of it and laid his hand on the other boy's hip instead. The blanket was surprisingly textureless, and despite the bed being occupied there was no noticable warmth. But still he lay there, awake long after Jean's quiet sobs had stopped, replaced by the slow rhythmic breaths of sleep.

##

The barracks were woken abruptly to answer for the deaths of the captured titans. They were rounded up and moved so quickly that it wasn't until the first people were checking their 3d manouver gear that Marco realised he'd lost sight of Jean. His breathing quickened, and he looked around in a panic. Led by an urgency he couldn't explain, he broke ranks from the end of the rown he was standing, and while the heads of the superiors were turned, snuck among the row until he was looking at the familiar sight of the back of Jean's head. He steadied himself for a second, calming his breathing. If the superiors noticed him there, they didn't say anything, and Marco stood defiantly behind Jean for the remainder of the morning.

His manouver gear wasn't called into question, and while he thought that odd at first, he put it to the back of his mind.

The investigation was to no avail, and when the trainees were finally released there was nothing else to do but wait until the evening.

"Hey, Jean-" Marco reached for the familiar hand that hung loosely at Jean's side, but before he could take it Jean pulled it away and ran it through his hair as he started to walk away. Marco frowned. "That's not funny, you know." He sighed and followed Jean, running the first few steps to catch up.

##

Marco wasn't the only one who cried as they burned the bodies of the dead. Trost was won, but so many lost. He took Jean't hand in his own, frowning when Jean twitched.  
"What is it?" He asked, but Jean simply let out a long sigh.

The stood there for a while, listening to the crackling of the fire mixing with the occasional sob.

Jean moved away first, walking forward a few paces. Marco sighed.  
"Jean, I-" He stopped as the other boy crouched down, afraid to say the unsaid. "- I love you. Don't ever leave me." He said softly, so that anybody further away than Jean wouldn't hear.

He knew something was wrong when Jean didn't respond. He blushed.  
"Did you hear me, Je-"  
"Hey, Marco." Jean paused. Marco's heart stopped for a second, and his face lit up.  
"Yes?"  
"I can't even tell which bones are yours anymore."

And it hit Marco hard. He took two steps back, and left side of his face started to throb until it was burning white hot. His left arm was numb. The crick in his neck that he couldn't get rid of. He reached up to touch his face, and stumbled around when he felt tears pouring down his cheeks. The memory of Jeans face burned into his mind, panicking, looking down at him. Why was Jean looking down? Or was it him that was looking up? He could feel the splash of Jean's tears on his cheeks.

"No! It can't be! I'm fine, see!" He let out a pained cry amongst his tears, and ran toward Jean but no matter how far he stretched out to him he couldn't reach, like he was being dragged backwards in a moment that seemed to last forever.

He'd heard somewhere that when people die, their feelings at their time of death stay with them forever. He wished he'd never heard that. His head felt like it was being chiselled open, like there were hot coals being pressed to his skin, like he was being eaten alive. He collapsed on his knees next to Jean, clutching his head.  
"It _hurts_, Jean, it hurts _so much_." He cried, reaching out. But Jean turned away and stood, adressing the other trainees. "Jean!" Marco shouted.

"Jean!"

He got to his feet, rushing towards the familiar boy, and flung his arms around Jean's shoulders.  
"Don't let them take me, Jean, I want to stay with you!" He screamed.

His tears dripped rhythmically onto the floor, and as his arms dropped to his sides, Jean and the others turned to leave. He watched their retreating backs until the night turned cold, squinting into the darkness to make out their shadows.

"Stay with me, Jean. I love you." He whispered into the night.

_Fin_


End file.
